Apologize
by meetmeinstlouie
Summary: SEASON 6 SPOILERS. The mental process of an old booby, and what happens when he figures out what to say.


**A/N: S6 SPOILERS…I was thinking about how they'd resolve the latest re-occurrence of foot-in-mouth disease (** _ **Carolus Carsonus**_ **strain), and this happened.**

It was as though he had been walking along on a blissful summer's day, and all of a sudden, run into a snowstorm. She was fine one day; the next, distant as though a wall had cropped up between them. Oh, she still helped him into his coat ( _her hands, what the touch of her hands did to him_ ), and was ever-so polite, but he could feel it.

She was angry with him.

He thought he knew what the trouble was. That blasted dinner, lamb and bubble and squeak and whatever else she'd put in front of him. What was he supposed to say? Nothing? The butler would not be so easily muffled, not even at home.

Then the events of that terrible evening. He knew he'd remember his Lordship spewing blood until his dying day. It brought back the terrible reality of death to him. One that she had helped him – well, not forget exactly, but set aside. It made him afraid.

He thought he was going to lose her once, and the memory alone made his blood run cold.

" _Who said anything about cancer?_ _"_

He couldn't bear it if he lost her. Not now. Not when they had finally wed, and found some happiness together. He berated himself for his lack of tact. "I am what I am," he had boomed to her once, meaning every word.

The butler had meant every word. As her husband, those words were inexcusable. She wasn't weak, not at all. She was perfectly capable of taking measured criticism. And more than willing to let him have it when he thoughtlessly patronized her over mistakes like she was a kitchen maid, instead of his wife.

She, unlike him, had found the strength to open her heart to him. _She_ made herself vulnerable. First, with daring to ask the question before their marriage of how they were to regard each other; then after, as she tried to please him by doing something she hadn't done in decades.

She had set aside her own fatigue, thought of him, and tried to make sure he didn't go hungry.

And he, being an old booby, had only thought of what was wrong with the meal!

He suffered through the biting comments and sharp looks he received from her. The cook made her allegiance clear as well, and heaped on the scorn. He didn't blame either of them. He deserved it.

Finally, he broke down after they had returned to their cottage for the night. He didn't literally get on his knees, but the remorse was evident in his voice. She took his apology with perfect civility, and enough tenderness to know that he was back in her good graces.

He sat at their table, the same table that had started the whole mess. She stood, coming around to stand behind him. He felt her strong hand pat his shoulder.

"I told you once that every relationship has its ups and downs," she said gently. He thought he detected a hint of amusement in her tone. "So the world goes. But we learn from our mistakes, and get on with life."

In gratitude, he reached for the hand on her shoulder and took it, pulling her around the chair to gaze down at him, still seated. He held her hands, feeling immeasurably blessed, and quite unable to express all that he felt. But he would try.

"Thank you, Elsie, for putting up with this old sod," he whispered, her fingers intertwined with his. "You are beautiful, and kind, and I have no right to complain when you are doing your best to look after me."

Her face softened into a smile. "Thank you for that." She sighed. "I am doing my best, Charles. And I will get better at cooking. I don't mind it if you complain from time to time. You've been in service too long not to notice when something goes awry-" her mouth quirked that grin he adored, "-but try to remember I am still learning, and for your own good, don't say anything about it in front of our friends."

He nodded and squeezed her hands. "Is there anything I can do...to make it up to you?" His voice rumbled in a low tone as he gazed at her. She was very aware of his big hands caressing her small ones. She swallowed, looking down. A memory of a day at the beach, holding hands as they paddled in the water.

A bubbly laugh escaped from her. "I don't know how, but you managed to make that sound a little…" she stopped as he lifted one of her hands to his lips, kissing it, "- _risque_." Her breath hitched at his touch.

"And if I did?" he breathed, raising his eyebrows. He lifted her other hand and kissed it as well. Her heart danced.

"We're getting on, we can afford to live a little," she quavered. His lips explored the palm of her hand and moved to the inside of her wrist.

They lived enthusiastically into the small hours of the morning, and again when they woke. The cook raised her eyebrows when they were late for breakfast, but never said a word.

 **A/N: It won't happen, but…see JF!? You can show something! I didn't even take their clothes off! Gah! Rant over.**


End file.
